Night (A Nonet)

Like a cloak over her bare shoulders
Black night descends about the day
Pulling, shrugging, settling in
Day sighs in gratitude
Heaviness ,comfort
are to be hers
Night will rule
She will
sleep

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, Prompt 18, There's A Moon Out Tonight

The Kiss

image source

Practicing with her reflection

in the bedroom mirror

What if the lips don't align or the

head tilt is incorrect?

She studies the angles, features, dimensions

Such easy nonchalance takes much rehearsal

A flip of chestnut hair

a carefree laugh

and then

hold the gaze just long enough to let him

know

She leans in with lips

slightly parted

slightly quivering

Crashes into reality and

herself

in the hard, cold glass.

submitted for Poetry Picnic #2, The Kiss, at Gooseberry Garden

I'm Honored

"I'd like to thank my 1st grade Language Arts teacher and Dr. Seuss and..."

Check it out! I'm featured on Poetic Blooming's Web Wednesday featured poet interview! Thanks to Marie Elena and Walt for selecting me and for the interesting interview questions. Check out the website Poetic Bloomings for a great place to encourage and nurture your poetic spirit!

Red Umbrella

Red Umbrella, Christopher Shay

Red umbrella blooms
 hibiscus in the rain or
poisonous mushroom
You do not fear the wetness
thriving in these warm, damp pools

submitted for Magpie Tales 80

The Bright Side

Sometimes, my love, there is no silver lining

When one door closes

they all slam shut

You are a Mormon on a street of

atheists

Sometimes, my love, gray skies are gray

for such a long time you forget

what light is; it burns your eyes

And if you keep looking up

you get a stiff neck and

bird shit in your face

submitted for Poetry Jam, Always Looking Up

Hurricanes and Other Disasters

First an earthquake

Now a hurricane

Prepare for more disasters!

(I was supposed to have a girls' night out)

Battle the grocery store masses of panic

Hoard the bread, milk, and tp

Water, water, water!

(cookies, chocolate, and wine)

Tie down the grill

Store the outdoor furniture

Should've fixed that leaky window

(crap!)

Smell of wet dog

Suspicious puddles on the kitchen floor

Clean up the mess

(what else is new?)

submitted for We Write Poems, Prompt #69 Formulaic 3+(x)=Poem

Bedroom Wars

image source

Chaos all around
Nothing is where it should be
Trash and dust compete for space

Perfectly cozy
All my stuff within my reach
My room-my peaceful kingdom

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, In Form Poet: Sedoka

Little Eve

art by Felicia Olin

Why'd you do what you did, Little Eve, Little Eve?

Why'd you go and do it, Little Eve?

Everything was perfect, Little Eve, Little Eve

Now you've gone and thrown it all away

Once we had it all

We were young and in love

Everything was good as good could be

Swimming in the streams,

climbing up our tree

I was made for you and you for me

We were gonna be together

You and me for life

We had a little garden we could share

Our world was full of beauty

There wasn't any strife

So happy, Eve

We didn't have a care

Why'd you do what you did, Little Eve, Little Eve?

Why'd you go and do it, Little Eve?

Everything was perfect, Little Eve, Little Eve

Now you've gone and thrown it all away

How many times I warned you

but you would not believe

guys out there are gonna tell you lies

When that snake came a callin'

you were so naive

He smiled at you and you looked in his eyes

Now Eve we're in a mess

This is really bad

Those promises he made to you were fake

I feel like we are fallin'

Should've listened to your Dad

God knows that you can never trust a snake

(Chorus)

Evie, next time think twice

Oh Evie, we've lost our paradise.

submitted for Poetry Picnic, Week 1, Adam and Eve, at Gooseberry Garden

Molly and Mark

Whatever happened to Molly and Mark?

Remember those rides in the car?

Cruising the streets every night after dark

We never did go very far

Just out for some bowling

or maybe a dance

sometimes sneaking a smoke if we dared

Backseats at drive-ins

the boys took a chance

on the girls with whom 

they had been paired

But Molly and Mark, they were not like the rest

Those two were in it to stay

He gave her his ring and most of the boys guessed

that he got her to go all the way

Molly left school during her senior year

Mark graduated that spring

Mol stayed with an aunt who lived not far from here
and never stopped wearing Mark's ring

Whatever happened to Molly and Mark?

and all of the kids from that day?

The memory of all of us in that old car

driving farther and farther away.

submitted for Magpie Tales 79

The Last Time

image source

She wears long sleeves in August; laughs

about her fat arms. Sunglasses

hide her blue eyes. Please don't call the house

after six; her daughter may be sleeping.

She's taken to buying dark make-up and

waterproof mascara.

He swears he's going to change

This was the last time

The questions come more often

The looks, the whispers too

How many times can she say she

bumped into a door?

tripped on the stairs?

Besides it's not all his fault; she

has a temper too and

they both drink too much.

He swears he's going to change

This was the last time

She thinks about leaving him when

her daughter starts to cower

But where would she go? Who would she tell?

So they drink too much and yell and it was

the last time; in a beautiful dress meant for a party

a little girl helps bury her mother.

He swears he's going to change

This was the last time

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, #17 Change

Poetry Jam, Will Write For...

Imagine

image source

Imagine your child

The teasing he'd hear

Attacked and harassed

Taunts of "faggot" and "queer"

The teachers all know

but they'd just turn away

They'd say it's a problem

that he acts so gay

Imagine your daughter

won't wear a dress

short hair and no make-up

Is her beauty worth less?

Her choices are different

Which many don't like

Because they feel threatened

they call her a dyke

Imagine being hated

rejected, reviled

Would you still accept it

if this were your child?

submitted for Poetry Jam, Will Write For...

Ello

image source

I am a La-Z-Boy
I am a lap
Lay your load on me
Lounge
Lie down
Linger
Lean back
Laze
Loll
I'm L
mntary

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, #62, The Third Letter at Poets United

Til Death

image source

Endearing gestures

metastasize into traits

intolerable

Loving embraces become

stiff, suffocating

Complementary viewpoints

Irreconcilable split

submitted for Theme Thursday, Split

and The Purple Tree House, Poetic Form Waka (Choka)

Happy Bad Poetry Day!

image source

Happy National Bad Poetry Day!!!

(scroll down for my poem)
For those of you who are not aware, August 18 has been designated National Bad Poetry Day. It is a day to think about everything you've learned about good poetry and do the complete opposite! It's a day to proudly produce your worst crap.

With this in mind, I've reprinted what has been identified as the "worst" poem in Houston this year. It was produced in response to a single line prompt:  "Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree"
The challenge was take the prompt and write the "worst" bad poem. Here is the winner:
(not my poem yet, keep scrolling...)
The Nightingale and the Other Bird
Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree
It saw a caterpillar on bended knee
Which was odd for caterpillars don't have knees you see
Slurppppppp...breakfast, says the bird with mouth full
Then a nightingale began serenading the satiated bird with her siren song
"You'll be dinner before much long"
Her etiquette was quite alarming as having given away her plans
She pulled off her mask, twittering "Ah HA"and mumbling curses about the high cost of living,
Eating mangoes, dancing tangoes, pelting passersby when ornery
they answered her with raised fists and twisted lips,
sour feelings growing in their tiny, hard hearts as sour and hard as taffy that's not so laughy
Yes, twas th bst uf tymes and th werst uf tymes, with in you and without ryhmes.

I challenge you darlings to take the prompt and do the same. I will also attempt my own bad poem. Please post your bad poems either in my Comments section or, if you have no shame like me, you may post them in your own blog and provide a link.  Extra points for bad spelling and grammar, pomposity, and adolescent humor.

(here it is! you may regret this...)

My Own Poetic Dreck

Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree

I gazed up at the bird; he gazed down at me

Oh little bird! How I wish I could fly!

But alas! I cannot! Why, God? Why?

My heart felt as heavy as the heaviest thing

But then that bird began to sing

It's song was like syrup to my ear (s)

The sweetest song I could ever here

He said to fly you don't need a wing

Like Spongebob said "Imagination" is king!

The words I heard from the bird assured me so

much that I didn't want to let him go

So I caught that bird in a great big net

Now he's always with me in a cage as my pet.

image source

For Rabbit

In a field of wheat I search for

you, my friend

You are a cagey creature

The minute I think

I have a grasp of you, you

disappear

only to emerge, the tip of your ear

waving from behind a stalk of wheat

saying, "Follow me!" or

"Don't. I don't much care."

I always follow

Like Alice's White Rabbit, I

follow you

and we play in your magical

strange

sad

funny

beautiful Wonderland; then

you slip away

and I learn how

to make some wonders myself

But don't you ever think

that I've forgotten you, my friend

I've come to this field of wheat

looking for that jaunty ear

waiting for you to

come home.

submitted for Bluebell Books, Short Story Slam, Week 8

Sounds of Silence

Too long silent

Lips sewn shut 

with threads spun of shame

buried

locked away

never to speak the name

But the silence screams louder

than the screams in my nightmares

and the words fight to escape 

their cages, hurling themselves 

against prison bars

I gag them back down
swallow hard

Speak now or

forever

hold your tongue.

inspired by The Sounds of Silence (1965) by Simon and Garfunkel

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, Prompt 16, Playing Favorites

and One Single Impression, Silence

Strokes

image courtesy of Magpie Tales

If I could paint over

all of your hurt

whitewash your wounds

that still smart even after so

many years

when rubbed the wrong way

where would I start?

With the empty spaces 

left in your spirit from

cutting words?

What color would fill them in?

With the mistrust from

lies

told straight to your eyes?

What hue would do for that?

And what brush

would ever be soft enough to

stroke the cheek that's been stung

by too many harsh slaps?

your very walls stained

with splatters of shame

Would I ever have enough paint

to erase the damage 

inflicted by a critic 

who was blind to

your beauty?

submitted for Magpie Tales 78

Good Morning

image source

Butterfly kisses

Flit down my neck, shoulders, back

Love in the morning

submitted for Poetry Potluck 48, Passion, at Jingle Poetry

Neon and Black

image source

Drag queens in full bloom

Urban hip black shed for black

Spring in NYC

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Going Urban

Tree

image source

I once tried to climb my family tree

I didn't get very far

The bottom branches were sturdy enough

(although I'm not sure that I'd entrust a treehouse to them)

Then I looked outward

and upward

I noticed a

lack

To the left 

branches were scrawny, frail

mere twigs really

To the right

brittle, leafless, budless

pale with melancholy

As I climbed higher, they

thinned even more

Sun rushed in through scant leaves

no hiding place here

Above me

gaps

I could climb no further so I climbed

down

Later

as I sat by the fireplace watching

the logs burn

I thought about trees and

gaps

lacks

my family

and the trains that

took them away.

written for Theme Thursday, Tree

Evening Song

image source

The evening sings for us
Listen
Mourning doves coo their couplings
Crickets trill mating songs
The barred owl searches out his partner
and the chaos of the day is quelled

The evening paints the sky for us
A watercolor tableau of
crimson bleeding into gold
azure into indigo
The fading light softening the edges of the day 

                                                                              

The evening air is perfumed for us
Late summer jasmine
mingles with rose petals and anticipation
We inhale the intoxicating balm
and let it seep into our pores

The evening sings for us, then
quiets to a hush and
makes its graceful exit; for
the night's song
is ours to sing.

written for Poetry Jam, Evening

August Is Not

 Summer Evening, Edward Hopper, 1947

August is not a month for the meek

The incessant song of the cicadas has been known

to drive the weak of will to drink

and the weak of mind to madness

The pavonine petals of the proud tulips

have already succumbed

as have the other giddy blooms of spring

Only the most hardy, least demanding remain

to suck on the dust

and pretend it's rain

August is not a month for equivocation

There is no time for ambiguity; patience

ebbs as days grow shorter,

hotter

and the nights press down, heavy

with meaning and sweat.

submitted for Magpie Tales 77

Late Afternoon

Melancholy of an Afternoon (1913) by de Chirico

Late afternoon
is the loneliest time
Sun going down, casting
long shadows
Day not yet over but
dying slowly
Commuter train whistles, carrying
moms, dads, lovers 

back home 

Everything partnered up
in late afternoon
Solitude
has no place here
Loneliness must wait 

for the night's embrace.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night #4

Balloons

 *This one is in honor of all the kids at Camp Phoenix, the hospice camp where I volunteered this week. They've all had someone close to them recently die.

image source

Balloons aloft are lifted to the sky

Up to the clouds above they rise to meet

those who've passed from this life on to die

and left us here bereft and incomplete

The wind will get them where they need to go

with messages and wishes we have sent

to those we'll always love with hope they'll know

just how much they're missed and what they meant

From sun, from sadness tears are in our eyes

We watch as our balloons sail higher still

Vanishing, we whisper our goodbyes

Like bright hued birds they fly away; yet still

Our gazes linger after they have gone

knowing we will soon have to move on.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Elegies

Windmills

image by Skip Hunt

I used to be afraid 

to love you too much

fearful

that should you leave, I would long 

for your return

I didn't want 

to miss you so badly 

it hurt

to whisper your name

to remember your smell

I held a part of myself back

for myself

so you couldn't take it all with you

when you left

If only I had known

that hoarding food makes you hungrier

unquaffed water evaporates

and all the windmills in the world

won't bring the wind.

submitted for Magpie Tales, 76

Poetry Potluck, 46 Love, at Jingle Poetry

Baltimore, Late July

photo by DJOtaku

Every year in late July/early August, Baltimore is home to Otakon, a weekend convention of anime fans from across the US and abroad. Thousands of "otaku" flood the Convention Center for a weekend of panels, role playing, interviews, video premiers, and meeting fellow fans.

photos by greenijo

What strange sort of creatures invaded this city?

They're causing us quite an alarm

Some are quite scary, while others are pretty

I hope that they mean us no harm!

We came to the harbor to visit the fish

to take in the views from the pier

but now we're beginning to wonder and wish

about getting the heck out of here!

We expected some birds-Orioles and a raven

but what greeted us gave us a shock-

Weirdos with weapons who made us feel craven

and costumes more fit for the "Block!"*

We really just wanted a quiet vacation

We wanted our lives to be calmer

but we landed in some neon, gothic space station-

Oh why did we go visit Balmer?

* an area of downtown Baltimore that is known for strip clubs and prostitution

submitted for One Single Impression, 179, Uncomfortable